


Coniungamus

by tibeyg



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Masters of Rome - Colleen McCullough
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Reunions, Saturnalia, Theatre, dumbass Romans, period accurate depictions of slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibeyg/pseuds/tibeyg
Summary: On the eve of Saturnalia in 80BC, Metrobius is greeted with an unexpected visitor.





	Coniungamus

The cold set in as the sun dropped away, seeping in through the cracks under doors, the gaps of windows, the sleeves of tunics. The theatre, wrapping up for the year, was emptying rapidly, the rowdy crowd spilling into the street and heading for the nearest bars and thermopolia. One by one, the lamps that had lit the final act of the play sputtered out.

Metrobius, packing his masks away, watched the theatre withdraw into slumber. There was something about it which he enjoyed; the usual loudness and exuberance curling up on itself like a snake for hibernation. It had been another busy year; his popularity hadn’t waned with age. Even now, his slave Novius was still collecting all the favours his fans had flung at his feet. He hoped it wouldn’t take long. He was looking forward to a hearty dinner before Saturnalia set in and he’d have to switch cooking duties with the slaves.

‘Look at this!’ cried Novius, bursting in, arms spilling with flowers and trinkets. 

Metrobius took it from him with light fingers. ‘A Saturnalia cereus.’

‘It’s got something stamped into it,’ said Novius, pointing as best he could without dropping anything.

It was small and circular, with an intricate design. A seal, most likely. But in the flickering lamplight which warred with the icy draughts squirreling into the room, it was impossible to tell whose. 

‘We’ll see tomorrow,’ said Metrobius. ‘Come. Let’s return home.’

It was a short stroll along back alleys that avoided the bulk of the theatregoers, and they arrived presently at Metrobius’ insula. His old quarters had been more luxurious – first floor! – but he had preferred living within Rome itself. As tumultuous the last decades or so had been, Metrobius – a true actor – had revelled in the drama of it all, more riveting and full of turns than any play conjured by human minds could ever be. And, if he were being honest to himself, he craved news of… _Enough. Home, now_. 

They ascended a flight of stairs, knocking to be let in by the porter.

‘Someone’s… here, _domine_ ,’ said the porter, mopping his brow.

‘A visitor? At this time?’ 

The porter squirmed, stepping aside to let them in.

‘Do you know him?’ Metrobius pressed, strolling to the little hall that served as his atrium.

‘Well, it’s impossible not to,’ dithered the porter.

Metrobius rounded on the man. ‘What do you –’

‘Metrobius,’ said a voice from behind.

He froze.

‘Leave me,’ he murmured to his slaves.

‘I haven’t introdu–’

‘By all the _fucking_ gods, I know who he fucking is, you fool! Go!’

They scurried off. Metrobius extracted the cereus from his tunic. In the brighter lamplight of his home, he could make out the seal stamped into it: three figures, one seated with two kneeling before and behind him. Of course.

‘I called ahead,’ said Sulla, sounding closer now, because of course it was, of course it fucking was, after all those years, those years of silence and heartbreak and fucking _Greece_ , was it?, and proscriptions and imperium –

Metrobius snorted, twisting the cereus in his hands. ‘Should’ve thought it through,’ he said lightly. He wasn’t one of the top actors in Rome for nothing. ‘The lighting in the theatre is pretty shit.’

‘I apologise. I have another gift for you.’

Metrobius turned around. Sometimes, especially in the last year, he would pass the forum for a self-flagellating glimpse from afar, but he was still unprepared for seeing him up close. The pale, slightly blotchy face was more liberally lined now, with threads of grey twisting through the red-blond of his hair. Metrobius was again surprised that he was shorter than recollection. But his clear eyes held nothing but the familiar love that had first arrested his heart forty years ago. Metrobius knew his own eyes, for all his skill, inevitably expressed the same. He flicked his gaze away. ‘Let’s see it then.’

Sulla’s hands dipped into his cloak and bore out a little clay likeness.

‘A sigillaria,’ Metrobius said. It bore his own face, wrought beautifully, and he hated himself when he felt his heartbeat speed.

‘It will be Saturnalia tomorrow, after all,’ said Sulla. When Metrobius didn’t move, he sighed and moved to lounge on the couch, setting the sigillaria beside him.

‘What do you want?’ said Metrobius.

Sulla sighed, letting his head dip back and loll in his direction. ‘You, my love.’

‘As I recall, you had me for a few years. Before you dumped me for a cushy senatorial job.’ He was very aware that he was being particularly juvenile. He wanted Sulla to leave, and stay forever.

‘Far from cushy,’ snorted Sulla. ‘But it’ll be all over soon, anyway. I’m retiring.’

‘Congratulations.’

Sulla looked up at him through his colourless lashes. ‘I want you to come along.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Sulla sat immobile, still gazing at him.

‘You think, Lucius Cornelius, that I’ll come skipping back into your arms at first call? After all these years? You left me. Now you want me to come back? I have a job. A life. People admire me. Yours wasn’t the only gift I received tonight. Do you think me still a child, Lucius Cornelius?’

‘You never were,’ Sulla murmured.

‘I _loved_ you,’ said Metrobius. ‘I loved you so much I would have walked to the gates of Hades and back for you. I never even loved anyone else half as much as I did you. Why? Even though you left me, refused to even see me for all these years.’ He was getting hysterical. ‘Do you know how it tormented me when you did your little stunt all those years ago, marching into the city? When you left for Greece, and Marius and Cinna machinated against you at every turn? When you returned and faced your foes all over again? Do you know how many sleepless nights I had? How many sacrifices I left at every temple in Rome, praying for your safety? Knowing all along that I wouldn’t even have been on your mind. I was a fool.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sulla quietly.

Metrobius sat down. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Sulla, so he sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the mosaic that decorated it. It was beautiful, a merry little scene of Apollo and the Muses frolicking in the woods. ‘Why have you come?’

Sulla was silent for a while. His cloak made soft sounds as he shifted on the couch. Metrobius picked idly at a tile in Calliope’s hair. 

‘I was in Rhodes,’ Sulla said, very suddenly. ‘Few years back. Right after the affair with Mithridates. I was rewarding them for their loyalty, and brought the army over for a well-deserved holiday. It’s lovely there, even in the autumn. I’d just wrapped up the treaty with Mithridates. I was Rome’s proconsul. One of the most powerful men in the world, I knew then. And I could revel in the fruits of my labour. My wealth. My wife and children. My soldiers’ love. I could push on if I wanted. Conquer the richest lands in the world. We saw Pergamum. It was so beautiful, so rich. Dripping with gold and gems and gaudy trinkets.

‘But it wasn’t enough, I knew. And I couldn’t work out what it was. It had never been enough. I thought I’d get it with the quaestorship, but no. I thought I’d get it with conquest, but no. I thought I’d get it with the consulship, but no. I thought I’d get it with a proper Roman matron for a wife, but no. I thought I’d get it with beating Mithridates, but no. 

‘Do you know when I was last truly satisfied, Metrobius?’ Sulla said, and Metrobius suddenly knew. It was when they had gone on that spontaneous holiday all over Italy, sleeping rough in dodgy inns and fucking in the scratchy beds, winking at the scandalised innkeepers the next morning. Feeding each other bits of local cheese and bread they’d purchased along the way as an excuse to lick each other’s fingers. Clattering along in the little mule cart, glowing in the sun and in love.

‘I’d always just wanted a simple life, it seemed. Full of love. Yours,’ he clarified, with a meaningful look at Metrobius. ‘So I didn’t push on into Asia. I came back to Italy. I fought off the Marians. Got that dictatorship foisted on me, got this consulship. My family’s name will live on. But I’ve made it now, my boy. I’ll be free to live that again now.’ Metrobius met his eyes, clear as ever. ‘I want you to be with me.’

Metrobius said nothing. Sulla held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it away. His hand came out to fiddle with the sigillaria, then stilled. He rose from the couch.

‘Of course, I realise that you may not feel the same. I won’t impinge on your hospitality any longer. I should have come seen you earlier, but I’m glad to have done it before I left.’ He made for the door.

‘Stop.’

The slide of Sulla’s boots across mosaic fell silent beside him. Metrobius got up. Sulla looked up at him.

‘You stupid, stupid man,’ breathed Metrobius, then kissed him.

Sulla made a little sound. He pressed back quickly, almost incredulously, and his hands slipped warily around Metrobius’ waist. Metrobius held his face, stroked his thumbs across it.

‘Do you agree to come?’ said Sulla against his mouth.

‘I do,’ said Metrobius. ‘Jupiter help me, but I do.’

‘I’m sorry I left you,’ said Sulla. ‘I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t thought it was completely necessary.’

‘It was never necessary,’ said Metrobius, although he knew it was. ‘Never do that to me again.’

‘I won’t,’ said Sulla, kissing him again. ‘I can’t. I could never let you go again. I never forgot about you, Metrobius.’

‘Will you stay tonight?’ said Metrobius. ‘Spend the Saturnalia with me?’

Sulla’s expression turned mischievous. ‘Taking me to bed so soon?’

Metrobius swatted him, giggling. He felt like foam on water. It was idiotic, but he felt like he was going to burst. ‘I’m having dinner, Lucius Cornelius. But if I decide I still love you afterwards, then I might think about it.’

But Sulla’s eyes were curving with the force of his smile. ‘At last. My dear, darling boy.’

**Author's Note:**

> This fic combines elements of actual history and Colleen McCullough's Masters of Rome series. 
> 
> On Saturnalia, the Romans exchanged gifts of little wax candles (cerei) and little clay faces (sigillariae).
> 
> "Coniungamus" is Latin for "let us unite".
> 
> If you like the enemies-to-lovers trope then check out [my gf's gay novel](http://valeaida.tumblr.com/post/149576789996/an-elegy-info-post), illustrated by me!


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